Catch 22
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: #059 - Pain
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: Season 3 Finale
Warning: shady consent, dark
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Doctor (10), (Series: Simm!Master/Doctor, TARDIS/Doctor)
Summary: Sequel to Something Darker. It's been two years since Jack's been dropped back on Earth, and he's always wished to see the Doctor again, but not like this.
Note: I really need to stop writing in the middle of the night when I have classes the next day.
It’s been two years since the Master left his first planet to the rule of his minions, the silver footballs of doom. Two years since Jack dropped back on Earth a lot more literally than would have been good for any other person, and he needed almost a quarter of that time to get back to Cardiff, since the Master in his generosity has dropped him on Australia. He’s fallen at day, mercifully loosing consciousness a few hundred metres above the ground, and when he woke up it was night, which told him a lot about the state his body must have been in after it, quite literally, went splat.
The state of his clothes added to that tale, and the fact that his coming back to life ruined the day for a number of hungry animals.
He found himself in an area that didn’t offer anything but rocks and sand, apart from an occasional Toclafane passing by to kill him, and wasn’t that fun! To make things perfect Jack died of heat and dehydration twice before he reached the next city.
All the time he was thinking about the Doctor. Unable to decide weather he was glad the Time Lord did not jump with him, or regretted not holding on to him as he fell, taking him from the Master the only possible way.
Travelling by car, ship, raft and trunk, walking altogether more miles than he ever thought possible for a sane person to walk on their own he finally reached Cardiff and the hub. And, wonder of wonders, his team was waiting for him. Well, not exactly waiting for him as they believed him to be dead-for-good or at least gone from the universe, but present.
The hub has not yet been discovered by the Toclafane and since the Master knows where it is Jack suspects this to be another of his games. Let the silly humans fight the evil from outer space from their secret little base and see where it leads them.
Naturally they do.
On the outside the world looks almost like it has before, except for the silver balls flying around. It’s impressive how easily the people accept a new situation. For a while after the invasion life came almost to a complete halt, but then the shops reopened, people went back to work and everyone just... moved on. Everyone that wasn’t killed, that is, and there isn’t anyone who doesn’t have to mourn the loss of a loved one.
The Torchwood team is mourning Owen.
There are rules, strict laws that have to be obeyed, and who doesn’t is executed on the spot. People get killed for fun now and then, but largely things have stabilized and everyone is learning to live with the fear. It is still possible to live a quite normal life if one is careful, and that’s a lot easier than to fight and most likely get killed. ‘It’s not that bad,’ they tell themselves, looking the other way. ‘Could be worse.’
The wars have stopped; they’re forbidden, and what remains of the former nations is facing other problems anyway. For the first time in forever there is peace on Earth, but it’s the peace on oppression, and in Jack’s eyes that’s not peace. So they keep fighting, him and Tosh and Gwen and Ianto. Some others as well - there is not much contact between the groups as they are scattered and few, and altogether there is only so much they can do. (He's looked for Martha and not found her.)
Still they keep fighting. When Jack catches himself thinking that he is proud of his humans he knows that he has spend definitely too much time in the Doctor’s company.
Only that’s not technically possible.
He still thinks of him every day, wondering where he is, if the Master is treating him well, if he’ll ever see him again. He tries not to as he knows he can’t do anything, has to concentrate on the world in front of him, but every now and then he realises anew that he would willingly have left the others to fight alone had it been possible to stay with the Doctor, even if all he could do was watching him crumble in the Master’s hands.
When the TARDIS arrives he nearly misses it.
Jack is in the hub but napping, and his dozing mind needs a moment to identify the unearthly noise that reaches his ears. When he jumps up and runs outside, forgetting all precautions, he can only hope that it was the TARIDS arriving he heard, not leaving.
But the moment he stumbles outside he knows he’s too late: the place is empty of any phone boxes from the previous century; just a few people wandering around and two or three Toclafane in the sky. They must not see him as he is wanted, and so, trembling with disappointment, Jack retreats inside. He closes the door, turns and gasps in surprise when he nearly collides with another person.
“Hi,” says the Doctor.
“Hi…” Jack echoes, dumbstruck, relieved and worried all at once. Although Time Lords do not age one look is enough to tell him that for the Doctor more time has passed than two years, but if anyone would ask him how he knows he couldn’t tell. The Doctor is smiling, seeming calm and relaxed but Jack knows him too well to not recognize it as the serenity of a person who has already lost everything and simply grown accustomed to the pain.
He doesn’t need to see the other’s outfit to know he’s still in the Master’s possession.
The Doctor’s clothes are once again black, as the Master seems to like it, and while Jack has to admit it looks good on him he would much rather see him in clothes of his own choosing. He also doesn’t like the tight collar around the other’s neck or the way clothes that would cling to any normally build person hang loosely from his body.
Without any further word Jack draws him into an embrace, holding him close. The Doctor doesn’t flinch from him, doesn’t return the gesture either; he just stands there and lets it happen. Jack’s heart breaks a little.
“Did he send you here?” he asks without letting go, and feels the Doctor’s answering nod.
“What for?”
“Don’t worry,” the Time Lord mumbles. It’s not an answer, and for the first time Jack wonders if the Doctor is broken enough for his team to have reason for worry.
He leans back and cubs the Doctor’s face, watching it intently. The Doctor calmly returns his gaze and Jack can’t tell if there really is nothing in his eyes or if the pain is just too deep for him to see the bottom. These eyes remind him of the last time he’s seen the Doctor, the day they found out that his fate is sealed, and they unsettle him. He looks away, focuses on other things.
There is a fading bruise on the Doctor’s cheek and he is paler than Jack remembers him being, dark circles under his eyes. Beneath the collar the skin of his neck is scratched and bruised and as Jack looks closer he can see bite-marks. One hand is wrapped in a bandage. The rest of his body is covered by clothing - Jack is almost glad.
“Will he come back for you?” A stupid question, but there’s always hope.
The Doctor nods. “Tomorrow morning,” he answers, his voice devoid of emotion, the slight hoarseness caused by the collar. His mere sight makes Jack feel helpless.
“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” he proposes before he can say anything stupid, taking the Doctor’s arm and leading him further inside. A few short words to a very startled Toshiko who has not expected any visitors. The Doctor beams at her and introduces himself as an old friend of Jack, which is alright because Jack has a lot of old friends that randomly show up. For a moment he’s acting his old self so well it’s almost frightening.
“Are you hungry?” Jack asks while longing to get to his quarters for a more private conversation. He offers a bowl of fruit to his friend and the Doctor grabs as much as he can hold in his hands. He’s still chatting happily with Tosh but the way he attacks the banana reminds Jack of a starving animal and the look the Doctor shoots him is nothing short of grateful.
Looking at their skinny guest he really shouldn’t have been surprised.
Somehow the Doctor seems reluctant to leave Toshiko’s company but he doesn’t protest when Jack explains that they have private matters to discuss and asks her to tell Gwen and Ianto not to disturb them in any case should they return. She looks at him questioningly but doesn’t ask, knowing him well enough by now to not expect an answer.
-
The Doctor sighs inwardly, leaning against the closed door. At the same time glad he can drop the act that has been harder and harder to keep up and fearing what is to come. He can feel the Master’s order in the back of his mind, demanding, urging him onwards, and he’s not fighting it. What would be the point? This is not going to hurt anyone, and if Jack doesn’t agree with it he can still stop. But he is tired and longs for nothing more than rest and a day without pain. His wishes have become that simple.
The company of a friend, someone who has no desire to hurt him, is a blessing, but also a curse, for friendship is fragile and he has already lost so much.
Jack is looking at him expectantly, sitting on the bed.
“Which year is it?” the Doctor wants to know, mainly to keep Jack from asking anything himself. He doesn’t feel like answering questions. “How long has it been for you since…” ‘…I threw you out of the TARDIS in mid-flight?’ “… we left here?”
“Two years,” Jack says. “Longer for you, I suppose?”
Does he look that broken?
“A little. Not so much actually.” The lie leaves his lips easily and convincing. He’s gotten good at lying since the Master has made him do it plenty during the past several years, mostly small, harmless things like ‘Yes, Master’, and ‘More, Master’, and ‘I want you inside me, Master, deeper, harder, faster’, and ‘Yes, I think it would be lovely if you pushed that thing inside me and left it there for three days, thank you very much’. The humiliations still burns, but it’s not worth the pain of resistance. These days he needs all this strength to fight the Master when it truly matters.
Jack looks at him with such sadness it hurts.
“What is he doing to you?” he mutters, rises and takes the Doctor into his arms again, and the Doctor wonders if he can feel the oh so slight trembling that never seems to leave his body anymore but doesn’t think so. He clenches his teeth and tries to remain strong.
Jack gently pulls him down until he’s sitting on the bed as well. He caresses his face, his fingers trailing gently over bruises and scars, touching without malice and hidden viciousness and the Doctor could cry.
“Thank you,” he says quietly when his friend takes off the collar around his neck, for the first time in days allowing him to breathe freely.
“You could not have done that yourself?” Jack’s fingers are running carefully over his sore skin.
“No.”
This is the right time and the urge gets stronger. He doesn’t know how to ask and so he just kneels down on the floor and opens Jack’s belt, before unzipping his trousers. All the time he’s watching Jack’s face carefully. Jack looks shocked - the Doctor has feared he would.
“What are you doing?” the human hisses and takes hold of the Doctor’s wrists. “What’s…” He stops suddenly, turning the Doctor’s hands so that the insides of his wrists are exposed. Unwilling to offer an explanation the Time Lord tries to move away but Jack holds him firmly, then pushes up the right sleeve of his shirt. The bandage around his hand doesn’t cover enough to completely hide the long, ragged scar that runs up almost to the middle of his forearm.
“Oh God,” Jack mutters. “Oh, Doctor. That bastard, that fucking asshole…”
“Forget it.” The Doctor is finally able to withdraw his hands. “That was a particularly bad day.”
“How bad?”
He doesn’t have to close his eyes to be back in time more than ten years, in the thing his TARDIS has become, in front of the open doors, looking out at the Earth of the year 6005 that is already burning, about to be thorn apart long before its time. Protected inside the ship he can hear the screams and he wants to go out and help, stop the worst from happening, but he can’t. Too weak to fight his restrictions and too weak to fight the order to watch. And the Master is chuckling softly while he’s screaming in pain and crying and begging him to stop it.
When it is over, a long, long time later the doors close and the Master leaves him alone, curled up and trembling on the floor while the paradox-machine is drifting through space where a planet used to be.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” His voice betrays nothing.
He can feel Jack’s barely suppressed anger even though he doesn’t look at him anymore. For a long time he doesn’t say anything and the Doctor is getting nervous, wanting to get over with his task.
“I thought I was impossible for you to kill yourself.”
The Doctor sighs.
“It is. But there are some small, sharp edges in the crate in the console room.” …that seem to serve no purpose except cutting into the soles of his bare feet. “When I even think about killing myself I’m getting paralyzed by the usual reaction and it doesn’t let me do anything but lie on the floor and scream. In this case, though, I only needed to control my body enough to run my arms over the edges and cut my arteries, and believe me, that was hard enough.”
Turning over to the other side is hell but he needs to cut both wrists to be faster than the Master who is already coming back, sensing something is wrong, that the Doctor is getting weaker rapidly. The cuts are far from clean but his blood is falling through the crates and he isn’t fighting, allows his body to fail. The world disappears before the Master arrives and all the Doctor feels is relief. Then he wakes up again, rising slowly, after a while accepting that he is still alive with a feeling of devastation. He’s half-lying on something soft and the Master is holding him, rocking back and forth, sobbing and muttering apologies, and the Doctor stays very, very still. When the Master discovers that he is awake and has witnessed his moment of weakness he gets angry. The next time the Doctor wakes up is three days later.
“You say that like it doesn’t concern you.” The anger isn’t quite so hidden now, but the Doctor can’t tell who it is directed at.
“It was long ago, Jack.” He wants to get away from this topic, and suddenly his hands are on Jack’s fly again, acting almost on their own, driven by the order he has to follow. The human pushes them away again and the Doctor looks up at him, knowing he is probably about to lose the only friend the Master can not take from him any other way.
“You don’t want it?” he asks, both hopeful and afraid.
“Not like this! Not when he’s forcing you!”
It’s perfectly understandable - the Doctor wouldn’t want it either.
“Okay,” he says, deciding not to do it. The answer to his refusal knocks him to the ground one second later and no matter how often he’s felt this he can never fully prepare for it. The pain is excoriating but it’s not the worst about it. Worse is the nausea, the need to do something that’s seems to tear him apart and the knowledge that it would be so easy to find relief.
He grinds his teeth and tries not to scream out his misery - Jack deserves better than that.
“Shit!” he hears the human curse from far away, and then he’s lying on the bed but doesn’t remember getting there. His body almost convulsing, his legs kicking helplessly at nothing. Breathing is nearly impossible.
He hopes he doesn’t whimper.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Jack repeats again and again. “I didn’t think… You can do whatever you want, I don’t care.”
“You don’t w-want it-t,” the Doctor somehow finds the strength to answer, not knowing if his voice is even audible. “I’m not go… going to ra… rape y-you.”
“It’s no like I don’t want you, just not like this, not if you don’ t want to, but if it stops this… I mean, it’s your decision, but…” Jack’s babbling. For the first time the Doctor realises what kind of decision he’s forcing on his friend - no matter which way they go, by the time the Doctor leaves again Jack’s opinion of him probably can’t sink any lower.
He has a vague impression of speaking, something about only having to bear it until the Master returns to pick him up.
“I can’t watch you like this the entire night!” Jack exclaims. The Doctor suddenly thinks for no apparent reason that if he screamed now Jack’s team-mates would think all kind of bad things and probably come looking.
“Please, Doctor!” Jack begs - maybe he’s come to the same conclusion.
The Doctor isn’t thinking clearly anymore.
His body knows his decision before his mind does. Suddenly the pain subsides and all that remains is the urge to get down on his knees and take Jack’s cock into his mouth. The Doctor nearly falls in his hurry, his body still weak and trembling, and doesn’t look at Jack who helps him by quickly getting out of his pants. Then he sits on the edge of the bed again, spreads his legs and one second later the Doctor’s head is between them, eagerly running his tongue over the almost completely limp penis.
He’s working quickly but throughout, watching Jack’s reactions, learning what he likes, were he is especially sensitive. There are some differences to the Master but it’s basically the same. He waits until the cock is almost completely hard and stiff before he takes it fully in his mouth, letting it slide down his throat and waiting for his respiratory bypass system to kick in.
When Jack moans his name his voice sounds dazed but also unhappy. The Doctor forces himself to ignore that and soon enough the human is thrusting helplessly, unable to stop himself. But the Doctor pulls back before Jack can come - the Master doesn’t want him to swallow the semen of anyone else.
Jack looks quite miserable: hard and unfulfilled, but they are not done yet. As fast as possible the Doctor gets out of his own trousers and climbs on top of him, but once again Jack grabs his arms to stop him, showing an impressive amount of self control.
“No,” he growls.
“Jack, please!” the Doctor begs against his will, hating himself for being so pathetic. But stopping now would be unpleasant for both of them, and why can’t Jack just see that?
“No,” the leader of Torchwood repeats. “I’ll do it, don’t worry - I said I would, didn’t I? But not like this.” He carefully pushes the Doctor down, flips him around so he’s lying on his back and leans over him. “I want you to enjoy it as well.”
It’s been a long time since the Doctor has heard something this terrifying.
“Jack… that’s not…”
“Not possible?” Jack asks. “I’ve seen the Master - he seemed to enjoy himself well enough.”
“Not necessary,” the Doctor finishes. “I can… I could… if I wanted to, but I don’t have to and I’m not…” He doesn’t think there’s a way to make Jack understand. The human looks at him so pitying that the Doctor has to look away.
“He doesn’t usually aim for your pleasure, does he?” Jack asks softly.
‘No,’ the Doctor thinks. ‘He’s aiming for my humiliation. This isn’t humiliating. Humiliating is getting bound in an awkward position and left like that for days while the man who owns you every now and then comes to fuck you or beat you up or stick various things into you. Humiliating is being used as an ashtray and being treated like a piece of furniture. Getting taken on your hands and knees in front of the former government of an occupied world, in front of people you once helped, people that once looked up to you, so your master can demonstrate his superiority and that fucking his favourite slave is more important to him than the fate of their world. Humiliating is letting him do disgusting things to him out of your free will because he promised allowing you outside on your own for a few hours and then having him laugh at you when he changes his mind and knowing that you’ll do it again anytime for the hope that one day he might actually keep his promise. And letting him use you before the eyes of an old friend, degrading yourself, hoping that he might not kill them if you do. And being abandoned naked in the middle of a crowded city with a stick up your ass so large that you can hardly move, left to reach the TARDIS on your own. And getting send to whore yourself to a friend who has already suffered too much because of you and not even protesting because you have so little fight left and it’s so damn hard. Being completely useless when you wouldn’t have to be and existing solely for the sick pleasure of a psychopath is humiliating. And it’s humiliating when you hate what he is and what he does and what he makes you but know that losing him would destroy you, and have him laugh quietly because he knows as well.’
He doesn’t say anything.
His gaze falls on the clock on the bed table. He doesn’t need one to tell the time but it reminds him that in less than nine hours the Master will return and then he has to get back into that horrible caricature of his beloved ship, a place where he can not relax for one second, never knowing what the Master is up to, if only he is the target of his next plan or if he’s going to kill and maim his way through time and space again simply to make him suffer, and he so baldy wants to hide somewhere, get away from all that but there's not a single save place. It reminds him of his childhood - but he’s been so young then and so vulnerable and thought he’d never have to feel like that again.
Koschei was his only friend back then but even Koschei betrayed him in the end. By then he’s been older, though, and soon found a friend of another kind in his TARDIS, the one being in the universe that loved him unconditionally, and he loved her back. She became his centre, his place to return to, his one constant companion. And now he can not even lean onto a wall anymore because the Master not always forbids the machine to hurt him.
She sends him dreams, sometimes.
Eight hours and thirty-three minutes.
The humiliation he can take. It’s the fear that’s killing him, and the helplessness, and the guilt because he can do nothing and always feels that he could overcome the pain, break the bond, get out and save the ones dying before his eyes, if only he was a little stronger, fought a little harder.
People die because of him. It has always been that way but never like this, and now he can’t give the universe anything back for what he takes.
He’s completely worthless. A lot on people back home would be happy to have him finally admit it, but they’ve missed this triumph by a stupid few years.
“Please, Doctor,” Jack insists, having not the slightest idea what he’s asking of him. “I don’t want to feel like I’m raping you.”
‘You’re not,’ the Doctor wants to say. But Jack is already doing so much for him and probably going to hate himself in the morning - the Doctor would.
So he swallows dryly and nods.
-
Jack can see that it costs the Doctor a lot of effort to relax, and he’s trembling slightly under Jack’s hands as the human gently strokes his limb cock, making it slowly become harder. He watches carefully for every involuntary little jerk and every gasp. The Doctor’s eyes are closed, his face flushed and for the first time since he got here he looks alive. His breathing is getting faster, and he looks utterly helpless - Jack can tell it must have been a long time since he got anything out of sex other than humiliation and pain.
His own cock is throbbing and aching, and it takes a lot of self-control to not just pin the Doctor down and thrust into him as hard and fast as possible. Instead Jack fishes for the lubricant in the drawer of his bed table and smears it over his penis and his hands, carefully pushing one finger into the Doctor’s arse, then another. Getting a third in is already difficult, and that’s a relief - as tight as the Doctor is the Master can’t have taken him all that often. Or can he? After all Jack knows little of the bodies of Time Lords and how flexible they are.
He always feared the Doctor had to endure sexual abuse, and found his fears proven true when the Time Lord sucked him off. The Doctor has apparently learned it quite well but unlikely willingly. How he was able to eat the banana earlier without wincing is beyond Jack.
Eventually he slides in as carefully as possible and it has to hurt but the Doctor doesn’t even frown. Before he begins to thrust slowly he unbuttons the other’s shirt and pushes it open, and even his libido is getting a bit discouraged by the sight that greets him. The anger is back but he has to suppress it - it’s not helping anyone now. So he leans down instead to suck the Doctor’s nipples, taking the quiet whimper as encouragement as his hands move up and down the other’s shaft at increasing speed. His own thrusts steadily grow more forceful, his body screaming for release until finally he comes, shooting his seed into the Doctor, and the Doctor’s body buckles and arches and he cries out as he comes himself, spasms around Jack’s penis still inside him.
‘See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Jack wants to say and only then notices the tears that silently run down the Time Lord’s face and disappear into the pillow. He’s still trembling and shaking and his hands are cramped around the covers.
“Oh, Doctor,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”
The Doctor opens his eyes, blinking away the tears.
“No, no,” he says, trying to smile. “I… I’m quite grateful. That was nice.” But Jack knows better - by making the Doctor give himself up he made him let go of the only control he had left, and now he is lost. Jack didn’t want to rape him but he might have done exactly that.
The Doctor’s smile crumbles, and one second later he is covering his face with his hands.
“I’m sorry, Jack, so sorry!” Though Jack doesn’t exactly know what he is sorry for. He wonders if the Doctor knows, really knows and understands what this is doing to him. He is aware that his friend would not have forced this on him had he had a choice. Still he’s come and asked Jack to take him, and now Jack hates himself for doing so. He would have hated himself just as much had he not done it and watched the Doctor writhe in agony on his bed until morning. ‘Catch 22’ he believes it is called in this era; a situation in which every possible decision is wrong.
He slowly slips out of the other’s body and then takes him into his arms, rocking back and forth, needing the comfort as much as he needs giving it. Almost against his will, as if he hasn’t already seen enough, he pushes the open shirt fully off the Doctor’s shoulders, hating the Master and the Time Lords and the whole universe while his fingers trail lightly over fresh welts, no doubt caused by whipping. There are so many other scars that speak of years and years of torture.
The Time Lords have given this to the Master, desperate enough to sacrifice one of their own for the Master’s commitment. And he took their gift and ran, left them to die and the Doctor to feel guilty for it for all eternity. He should have had the decency to stay and die with them, at least spare Jack’s friend this misery, but he just took it all and gave nothing in return.
One hand is stroking the Doctor’s back, the other has taken hold of his unbandaged wrist again, thumb running over the old scar, and he can not forget the shock of seeing it, of realizing that the Doctor, a man he thought indestructible, has been driven this far.
He wouldn’t have done it if there was any hope left.
“Don’t worry,” the Doctor murmurs, as if he read his thoughts. “I won’t try that again.”
“You sure about that?”
Jack has to ask. His friend was that desperate years ago and since then the situation clearly has not improved.
“Absolutely.” The certainty is hollow and underlined with defeat. Jack holds him a little closer, fearing the moment he has to let him go and fearing the tale behind that word.
“Tell me,” he says.
“I… The Master was very angry,” is all the Doctor offers.
“He hurt you?”
Jack feels the Doctor shake his head against his shoulder.
“No. He… travelled to Earth, and abducted a human, a man I once knew.” The Doctor’s voice is trembling and very quiet. Maybe asking wasn’t such a good idea, but Jack’s friend never can forget the things that hurt him anyway. There is a pause before he continues.
“He locked him in a room in the… the TARDIS. One of the walls was transparent - I could see him and he could see me, but he knew me many lives back and didn’t remember anyway. Then the room was filling with water. There was a bottom to stop it, open the doors and free him, right in from of me, but I couldn’t reach it. It was only two steps away but I couldn’t reach it and the water was rising and I tried…” He stops, and suddenly sobs harshly, into Jack’s shoulder. “He didn’t understand what was going on, Jack, and he was scared and the Master was laughing!” Suddenly he’s clinging to Jack, crying into his shoulder, and all Jack can do is hold him back.
“Oh, Jamie,” the Doctor sobs. “I’m so sorry, so sorry!” And then he just screams hoarsely, for maybe the first time in years breaking down completely.
“It’s wasn’t your fault,” Jack says, wishing his words had more power.
“Of course it was!” the Doctor cries. “It’s all my fault! He does this, all this, only to hurt me. The best way of stopping the Master would be killing me. I’m the only one who can stop him by simply dying and I can’t even do that! There aren’t many ways open to me and I can’t bear losing another if it doesn’t work.”
Jack swallows, hopes the Doctor hasn’t just asked him to kill him.
“Doctor, I could never…” He can’t finish the sentence.
The Doctor shivers in his arms, taking a few deep breaths, calming down somewhat.
“Don’t be silly,” he whispers. “He might lose his motivation but he’d go mad first. I know him.”
“I’m immortal,” Jack reminds him. The Master has killed him often enough, what would it matter?
“Your friends are not.”
True. Jack thinks of Gwen and Tosh and Ianto and despises himself for wondering if they’re worth this, if they’re worth leaving the universe to the Master, and despises himself even more for being unable to let the Doctor go.
“We could always kill him,” he muses grimly. “There has to be a way. It would free you, wouldn’t it?”
When the Doctor leans back and stares at him shocked, pale and apparently frightened beyond belief by the mere thought he wishes he hadn’t said anything.
He can’t even begin to imagine what losing the last of his kind would mean to the Doctor - but looking at his abused friend, already so broken, he makes his decision. The Master will come to pick him up in a few hours, and Jack will be waiting for him.
“I’m all sticky,” the Doctor mumbles, unaware of his thoughts. “I’ll take a shower.” He climbs out of the bed and away from Jack, disappearing into the small bathroom that is part of Jack’s private quarters. Jack in the meantime is left to stare at the wall and wonder what he could have done different during this encounter, what would have been better, as things clearly didn’t go well here, and comes to the conclusion that everything else would have turned out just as bad.
It doesn’t make him feel any better.
Twenty minutes later he kicks open the door to the bathroom, after the Doctor didn’t answer his calls, and finds him sitting beneath the running shower, his knees drawn to his chest, staring at nothing. The water that falls onto Jack’s arm as he reaches to turn it off is so cold he’s surprised it isn’t frozen. The Doctor doesn’t protest as he pulls him to his feet, wraps him into a large towel and leads him back to the bed, looking exhausted and apathetic. His skin feels icy under Jack’s warm hands.
“Stay here,” he orders with the authority of protectiveness and worry. “I’ll get something to warm you up.”
The Doctor doesn’t react to his words, and Jack doesn’t feel well leaving him alone, but he still hurries to the kitchen, fortunately meeting no-one as he in still only wearing his shirt.
When he returns ten minutes later with a pot of steaming hot tea the Doctor is fully dressed - in Jack’s clothes. He’s curled up on the bed but rises when Jack hands him his cup, and practically beams at him, his earlier breakdown seemingly forgotten.
“Tea!” he exclaims happily. “Oh, I love tea! The TARDIS just doesn’t know how to make it anymore.” He sounds cheerful, but there is so much darkness behind his words.
“Drop it,” Jack says quietly, unable to bear it. “Stop pretending, I know you’re…” He stops, sighs. “Don’t lie to me, not now. Give me something to believe in.”
The Doctor looks at him sadly, the cheer gone, and drinks his tea in silence. Then he puts the empty cup down, looks into Jack’s eyes and says:
“Thank you.”
‘For what?’ the human wants to ask but in the end simply accepts the Doctor’s words with a nod and watches as the Time Lord curls up again and practically snuggles into the pillow.
“When will he be back?” Jack wants to know as he stretches out on the bed himself, trying to sound like it wasn’t important.
“At seven,” the Doctor mumbles. Jack sets his alarm-clock, just in case the Doctor should get the idea of leaving without waking him up, and then asks, almost shyly:
“Can I hold you?”
After a second the Doctor nods, and leans against him as Jack slides his arms around him from behind.
-
He wakes at half-past six in the morning and the Doctor is gone, leaving nothing but Gwen telling she saw him leave at six when she returned from an over-night mission and a slight feeling of having been betrayed.
December 4, 2007
Prompt: #059 - Pain
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: Season 3 Finale
Warning: shady consent, dark
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Doctor (10), (Series: Simm!Master/Doctor, TARDIS/Doctor)
Summary: Sequel to Something Darker. It's been two years since Jack's been dropped back on Earth, and he's always wished to see the Doctor again, but not like this.
Note: I really need to stop writing in the middle of the night when I have classes the next day.
It’s been two years since the Master left his first planet to the rule of his minions, the silver footballs of doom. Two years since Jack dropped back on Earth a lot more literally than would have been good for any other person, and he needed almost a quarter of that time to get back to Cardiff, since the Master in his generosity has dropped him on Australia. He’s fallen at day, mercifully loosing consciousness a few hundred metres above the ground, and when he woke up it was night, which told him a lot about the state his body must have been in after it, quite literally, went splat.
The state of his clothes added to that tale, and the fact that his coming back to life ruined the day for a number of hungry animals.
He found himself in an area that didn’t offer anything but rocks and sand, apart from an occasional Toclafane passing by to kill him, and wasn’t that fun! To make things perfect Jack died of heat and dehydration twice before he reached the next city.
All the time he was thinking about the Doctor. Unable to decide weather he was glad the Time Lord did not jump with him, or regretted not holding on to him as he fell, taking him from the Master the only possible way.
Travelling by car, ship, raft and trunk, walking altogether more miles than he ever thought possible for a sane person to walk on their own he finally reached Cardiff and the hub. And, wonder of wonders, his team was waiting for him. Well, not exactly waiting for him as they believed him to be dead-for-good or at least gone from the universe, but present.
The hub has not yet been discovered by the Toclafane and since the Master knows where it is Jack suspects this to be another of his games. Let the silly humans fight the evil from outer space from their secret little base and see where it leads them.
Naturally they do.
On the outside the world looks almost like it has before, except for the silver balls flying around. It’s impressive how easily the people accept a new situation. For a while after the invasion life came almost to a complete halt, but then the shops reopened, people went back to work and everyone just... moved on. Everyone that wasn’t killed, that is, and there isn’t anyone who doesn’t have to mourn the loss of a loved one.
The Torchwood team is mourning Owen.
There are rules, strict laws that have to be obeyed, and who doesn’t is executed on the spot. People get killed for fun now and then, but largely things have stabilized and everyone is learning to live with the fear. It is still possible to live a quite normal life if one is careful, and that’s a lot easier than to fight and most likely get killed. ‘It’s not that bad,’ they tell themselves, looking the other way. ‘Could be worse.’
The wars have stopped; they’re forbidden, and what remains of the former nations is facing other problems anyway. For the first time in forever there is peace on Earth, but it’s the peace on oppression, and in Jack’s eyes that’s not peace. So they keep fighting, him and Tosh and Gwen and Ianto. Some others as well - there is not much contact between the groups as they are scattered and few, and altogether there is only so much they can do. (He's looked for Martha and not found her.)
Still they keep fighting. When Jack catches himself thinking that he is proud of his humans he knows that he has spend definitely too much time in the Doctor’s company.
Only that’s not technically possible.
He still thinks of him every day, wondering where he is, if the Master is treating him well, if he’ll ever see him again. He tries not to as he knows he can’t do anything, has to concentrate on the world in front of him, but every now and then he realises anew that he would willingly have left the others to fight alone had it been possible to stay with the Doctor, even if all he could do was watching him crumble in the Master’s hands.
When the TARDIS arrives he nearly misses it.
Jack is in the hub but napping, and his dozing mind needs a moment to identify the unearthly noise that reaches his ears. When he jumps up and runs outside, forgetting all precautions, he can only hope that it was the TARIDS arriving he heard, not leaving.
But the moment he stumbles outside he knows he’s too late: the place is empty of any phone boxes from the previous century; just a few people wandering around and two or three Toclafane in the sky. They must not see him as he is wanted, and so, trembling with disappointment, Jack retreats inside. He closes the door, turns and gasps in surprise when he nearly collides with another person.
“Hi,” says the Doctor.
“Hi…” Jack echoes, dumbstruck, relieved and worried all at once. Although Time Lords do not age one look is enough to tell him that for the Doctor more time has passed than two years, but if anyone would ask him how he knows he couldn’t tell. The Doctor is smiling, seeming calm and relaxed but Jack knows him too well to not recognize it as the serenity of a person who has already lost everything and simply grown accustomed to the pain.
He doesn’t need to see the other’s outfit to know he’s still in the Master’s possession.
The Doctor’s clothes are once again black, as the Master seems to like it, and while Jack has to admit it looks good on him he would much rather see him in clothes of his own choosing. He also doesn’t like the tight collar around the other’s neck or the way clothes that would cling to any normally build person hang loosely from his body.
Without any further word Jack draws him into an embrace, holding him close. The Doctor doesn’t flinch from him, doesn’t return the gesture either; he just stands there and lets it happen. Jack’s heart breaks a little.
“Did he send you here?” he asks without letting go, and feels the Doctor’s answering nod.
“What for?”
“Don’t worry,” the Time Lord mumbles. It’s not an answer, and for the first time Jack wonders if the Doctor is broken enough for his team to have reason for worry.
He leans back and cubs the Doctor’s face, watching it intently. The Doctor calmly returns his gaze and Jack can’t tell if there really is nothing in his eyes or if the pain is just too deep for him to see the bottom. These eyes remind him of the last time he’s seen the Doctor, the day they found out that his fate is sealed, and they unsettle him. He looks away, focuses on other things.
There is a fading bruise on the Doctor’s cheek and he is paler than Jack remembers him being, dark circles under his eyes. Beneath the collar the skin of his neck is scratched and bruised and as Jack looks closer he can see bite-marks. One hand is wrapped in a bandage. The rest of his body is covered by clothing - Jack is almost glad.
“Will he come back for you?” A stupid question, but there’s always hope.
The Doctor nods. “Tomorrow morning,” he answers, his voice devoid of emotion, the slight hoarseness caused by the collar. His mere sight makes Jack feel helpless.
“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” he proposes before he can say anything stupid, taking the Doctor’s arm and leading him further inside. A few short words to a very startled Toshiko who has not expected any visitors. The Doctor beams at her and introduces himself as an old friend of Jack, which is alright because Jack has a lot of old friends that randomly show up. For a moment he’s acting his old self so well it’s almost frightening.
“Are you hungry?” Jack asks while longing to get to his quarters for a more private conversation. He offers a bowl of fruit to his friend and the Doctor grabs as much as he can hold in his hands. He’s still chatting happily with Tosh but the way he attacks the banana reminds Jack of a starving animal and the look the Doctor shoots him is nothing short of grateful.
Looking at their skinny guest he really shouldn’t have been surprised.
Somehow the Doctor seems reluctant to leave Toshiko’s company but he doesn’t protest when Jack explains that they have private matters to discuss and asks her to tell Gwen and Ianto not to disturb them in any case should they return. She looks at him questioningly but doesn’t ask, knowing him well enough by now to not expect an answer.
-
The Doctor sighs inwardly, leaning against the closed door. At the same time glad he can drop the act that has been harder and harder to keep up and fearing what is to come. He can feel the Master’s order in the back of his mind, demanding, urging him onwards, and he’s not fighting it. What would be the point? This is not going to hurt anyone, and if Jack doesn’t agree with it he can still stop. But he is tired and longs for nothing more than rest and a day without pain. His wishes have become that simple.
The company of a friend, someone who has no desire to hurt him, is a blessing, but also a curse, for friendship is fragile and he has already lost so much.
Jack is looking at him expectantly, sitting on the bed.
“Which year is it?” the Doctor wants to know, mainly to keep Jack from asking anything himself. He doesn’t feel like answering questions. “How long has it been for you since…” ‘…I threw you out of the TARDIS in mid-flight?’ “… we left here?”
“Two years,” Jack says. “Longer for you, I suppose?”
Does he look that broken?
“A little. Not so much actually.” The lie leaves his lips easily and convincing. He’s gotten good at lying since the Master has made him do it plenty during the past several years, mostly small, harmless things like ‘Yes, Master’, and ‘More, Master’, and ‘I want you inside me, Master, deeper, harder, faster’, and ‘Yes, I think it would be lovely if you pushed that thing inside me and left it there for three days, thank you very much’. The humiliations still burns, but it’s not worth the pain of resistance. These days he needs all this strength to fight the Master when it truly matters.
Jack looks at him with such sadness it hurts.
“What is he doing to you?” he mutters, rises and takes the Doctor into his arms again, and the Doctor wonders if he can feel the oh so slight trembling that never seems to leave his body anymore but doesn’t think so. He clenches his teeth and tries to remain strong.
Jack gently pulls him down until he’s sitting on the bed as well. He caresses his face, his fingers trailing gently over bruises and scars, touching without malice and hidden viciousness and the Doctor could cry.
“Thank you,” he says quietly when his friend takes off the collar around his neck, for the first time in days allowing him to breathe freely.
“You could not have done that yourself?” Jack’s fingers are running carefully over his sore skin.
“No.”
This is the right time and the urge gets stronger. He doesn’t know how to ask and so he just kneels down on the floor and opens Jack’s belt, before unzipping his trousers. All the time he’s watching Jack’s face carefully. Jack looks shocked - the Doctor has feared he would.
“What are you doing?” the human hisses and takes hold of the Doctor’s wrists. “What’s…” He stops suddenly, turning the Doctor’s hands so that the insides of his wrists are exposed. Unwilling to offer an explanation the Time Lord tries to move away but Jack holds him firmly, then pushes up the right sleeve of his shirt. The bandage around his hand doesn’t cover enough to completely hide the long, ragged scar that runs up almost to the middle of his forearm.
“Oh God,” Jack mutters. “Oh, Doctor. That bastard, that fucking asshole…”
“Forget it.” The Doctor is finally able to withdraw his hands. “That was a particularly bad day.”
“How bad?”
He doesn’t have to close his eyes to be back in time more than ten years, in the thing his TARDIS has become, in front of the open doors, looking out at the Earth of the year 6005 that is already burning, about to be thorn apart long before its time. Protected inside the ship he can hear the screams and he wants to go out and help, stop the worst from happening, but he can’t. Too weak to fight his restrictions and too weak to fight the order to watch. And the Master is chuckling softly while he’s screaming in pain and crying and begging him to stop it.
When it is over, a long, long time later the doors close and the Master leaves him alone, curled up and trembling on the floor while the paradox-machine is drifting through space where a planet used to be.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” His voice betrays nothing.
He can feel Jack’s barely suppressed anger even though he doesn’t look at him anymore. For a long time he doesn’t say anything and the Doctor is getting nervous, wanting to get over with his task.
“I thought I was impossible for you to kill yourself.”
The Doctor sighs.
“It is. But there are some small, sharp edges in the crate in the console room.” …that seem to serve no purpose except cutting into the soles of his bare feet. “When I even think about killing myself I’m getting paralyzed by the usual reaction and it doesn’t let me do anything but lie on the floor and scream. In this case, though, I only needed to control my body enough to run my arms over the edges and cut my arteries, and believe me, that was hard enough.”
Turning over to the other side is hell but he needs to cut both wrists to be faster than the Master who is already coming back, sensing something is wrong, that the Doctor is getting weaker rapidly. The cuts are far from clean but his blood is falling through the crates and he isn’t fighting, allows his body to fail. The world disappears before the Master arrives and all the Doctor feels is relief. Then he wakes up again, rising slowly, after a while accepting that he is still alive with a feeling of devastation. He’s half-lying on something soft and the Master is holding him, rocking back and forth, sobbing and muttering apologies, and the Doctor stays very, very still. When the Master discovers that he is awake and has witnessed his moment of weakness he gets angry. The next time the Doctor wakes up is three days later.
“You say that like it doesn’t concern you.” The anger isn’t quite so hidden now, but the Doctor can’t tell who it is directed at.
“It was long ago, Jack.” He wants to get away from this topic, and suddenly his hands are on Jack’s fly again, acting almost on their own, driven by the order he has to follow. The human pushes them away again and the Doctor looks up at him, knowing he is probably about to lose the only friend the Master can not take from him any other way.
“You don’t want it?” he asks, both hopeful and afraid.
“Not like this! Not when he’s forcing you!”
It’s perfectly understandable - the Doctor wouldn’t want it either.
“Okay,” he says, deciding not to do it. The answer to his refusal knocks him to the ground one second later and no matter how often he’s felt this he can never fully prepare for it. The pain is excoriating but it’s not the worst about it. Worse is the nausea, the need to do something that’s seems to tear him apart and the knowledge that it would be so easy to find relief.
He grinds his teeth and tries not to scream out his misery - Jack deserves better than that.
“Shit!” he hears the human curse from far away, and then he’s lying on the bed but doesn’t remember getting there. His body almost convulsing, his legs kicking helplessly at nothing. Breathing is nearly impossible.
He hopes he doesn’t whimper.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Jack repeats again and again. “I didn’t think… You can do whatever you want, I don’t care.”
“You don’t w-want it-t,” the Doctor somehow finds the strength to answer, not knowing if his voice is even audible. “I’m not go… going to ra… rape y-you.”
“It’s no like I don’t want you, just not like this, not if you don’ t want to, but if it stops this… I mean, it’s your decision, but…” Jack’s babbling. For the first time the Doctor realises what kind of decision he’s forcing on his friend - no matter which way they go, by the time the Doctor leaves again Jack’s opinion of him probably can’t sink any lower.
He has a vague impression of speaking, something about only having to bear it until the Master returns to pick him up.
“I can’t watch you like this the entire night!” Jack exclaims. The Doctor suddenly thinks for no apparent reason that if he screamed now Jack’s team-mates would think all kind of bad things and probably come looking.
“Please, Doctor!” Jack begs - maybe he’s come to the same conclusion.
The Doctor isn’t thinking clearly anymore.
His body knows his decision before his mind does. Suddenly the pain subsides and all that remains is the urge to get down on his knees and take Jack’s cock into his mouth. The Doctor nearly falls in his hurry, his body still weak and trembling, and doesn’t look at Jack who helps him by quickly getting out of his pants. Then he sits on the edge of the bed again, spreads his legs and one second later the Doctor’s head is between them, eagerly running his tongue over the almost completely limp penis.
He’s working quickly but throughout, watching Jack’s reactions, learning what he likes, were he is especially sensitive. There are some differences to the Master but it’s basically the same. He waits until the cock is almost completely hard and stiff before he takes it fully in his mouth, letting it slide down his throat and waiting for his respiratory bypass system to kick in.
When Jack moans his name his voice sounds dazed but also unhappy. The Doctor forces himself to ignore that and soon enough the human is thrusting helplessly, unable to stop himself. But the Doctor pulls back before Jack can come - the Master doesn’t want him to swallow the semen of anyone else.
Jack looks quite miserable: hard and unfulfilled, but they are not done yet. As fast as possible the Doctor gets out of his own trousers and climbs on top of him, but once again Jack grabs his arms to stop him, showing an impressive amount of self control.
“No,” he growls.
“Jack, please!” the Doctor begs against his will, hating himself for being so pathetic. But stopping now would be unpleasant for both of them, and why can’t Jack just see that?
“No,” the leader of Torchwood repeats. “I’ll do it, don’t worry - I said I would, didn’t I? But not like this.” He carefully pushes the Doctor down, flips him around so he’s lying on his back and leans over him. “I want you to enjoy it as well.”
It’s been a long time since the Doctor has heard something this terrifying.
“Jack… that’s not…”
“Not possible?” Jack asks. “I’ve seen the Master - he seemed to enjoy himself well enough.”
“Not necessary,” the Doctor finishes. “I can… I could… if I wanted to, but I don’t have to and I’m not…” He doesn’t think there’s a way to make Jack understand. The human looks at him so pitying that the Doctor has to look away.
“He doesn’t usually aim for your pleasure, does he?” Jack asks softly.
‘No,’ the Doctor thinks. ‘He’s aiming for my humiliation. This isn’t humiliating. Humiliating is getting bound in an awkward position and left like that for days while the man who owns you every now and then comes to fuck you or beat you up or stick various things into you. Humiliating is being used as an ashtray and being treated like a piece of furniture. Getting taken on your hands and knees in front of the former government of an occupied world, in front of people you once helped, people that once looked up to you, so your master can demonstrate his superiority and that fucking his favourite slave is more important to him than the fate of their world. Humiliating is letting him do disgusting things to him out of your free will because he promised allowing you outside on your own for a few hours and then having him laugh at you when he changes his mind and knowing that you’ll do it again anytime for the hope that one day he might actually keep his promise. And letting him use you before the eyes of an old friend, degrading yourself, hoping that he might not kill them if you do. And being abandoned naked in the middle of a crowded city with a stick up your ass so large that you can hardly move, left to reach the TARDIS on your own. And getting send to whore yourself to a friend who has already suffered too much because of you and not even protesting because you have so little fight left and it’s so damn hard. Being completely useless when you wouldn’t have to be and existing solely for the sick pleasure of a psychopath is humiliating. And it’s humiliating when you hate what he is and what he does and what he makes you but know that losing him would destroy you, and have him laugh quietly because he knows as well.’
He doesn’t say anything.
His gaze falls on the clock on the bed table. He doesn’t need one to tell the time but it reminds him that in less than nine hours the Master will return and then he has to get back into that horrible caricature of his beloved ship, a place where he can not relax for one second, never knowing what the Master is up to, if only he is the target of his next plan or if he’s going to kill and maim his way through time and space again simply to make him suffer, and he so baldy wants to hide somewhere, get away from all that but there's not a single save place. It reminds him of his childhood - but he’s been so young then and so vulnerable and thought he’d never have to feel like that again.
Koschei was his only friend back then but even Koschei betrayed him in the end. By then he’s been older, though, and soon found a friend of another kind in his TARDIS, the one being in the universe that loved him unconditionally, and he loved her back. She became his centre, his place to return to, his one constant companion. And now he can not even lean onto a wall anymore because the Master not always forbids the machine to hurt him.
She sends him dreams, sometimes.
Eight hours and thirty-three minutes.
The humiliation he can take. It’s the fear that’s killing him, and the helplessness, and the guilt because he can do nothing and always feels that he could overcome the pain, break the bond, get out and save the ones dying before his eyes, if only he was a little stronger, fought a little harder.
People die because of him. It has always been that way but never like this, and now he can’t give the universe anything back for what he takes.
He’s completely worthless. A lot on people back home would be happy to have him finally admit it, but they’ve missed this triumph by a stupid few years.
“Please, Doctor,” Jack insists, having not the slightest idea what he’s asking of him. “I don’t want to feel like I’m raping you.”
‘You’re not,’ the Doctor wants to say. But Jack is already doing so much for him and probably going to hate himself in the morning - the Doctor would.
So he swallows dryly and nods.
-
Jack can see that it costs the Doctor a lot of effort to relax, and he’s trembling slightly under Jack’s hands as the human gently strokes his limb cock, making it slowly become harder. He watches carefully for every involuntary little jerk and every gasp. The Doctor’s eyes are closed, his face flushed and for the first time since he got here he looks alive. His breathing is getting faster, and he looks utterly helpless - Jack can tell it must have been a long time since he got anything out of sex other than humiliation and pain.
His own cock is throbbing and aching, and it takes a lot of self-control to not just pin the Doctor down and thrust into him as hard and fast as possible. Instead Jack fishes for the lubricant in the drawer of his bed table and smears it over his penis and his hands, carefully pushing one finger into the Doctor’s arse, then another. Getting a third in is already difficult, and that’s a relief - as tight as the Doctor is the Master can’t have taken him all that often. Or can he? After all Jack knows little of the bodies of Time Lords and how flexible they are.
He always feared the Doctor had to endure sexual abuse, and found his fears proven true when the Time Lord sucked him off. The Doctor has apparently learned it quite well but unlikely willingly. How he was able to eat the banana earlier without wincing is beyond Jack.
Eventually he slides in as carefully as possible and it has to hurt but the Doctor doesn’t even frown. Before he begins to thrust slowly he unbuttons the other’s shirt and pushes it open, and even his libido is getting a bit discouraged by the sight that greets him. The anger is back but he has to suppress it - it’s not helping anyone now. So he leans down instead to suck the Doctor’s nipples, taking the quiet whimper as encouragement as his hands move up and down the other’s shaft at increasing speed. His own thrusts steadily grow more forceful, his body screaming for release until finally he comes, shooting his seed into the Doctor, and the Doctor’s body buckles and arches and he cries out as he comes himself, spasms around Jack’s penis still inside him.
‘See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Jack wants to say and only then notices the tears that silently run down the Time Lord’s face and disappear into the pillow. He’s still trembling and shaking and his hands are cramped around the covers.
“Oh, Doctor,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”
The Doctor opens his eyes, blinking away the tears.
“No, no,” he says, trying to smile. “I… I’m quite grateful. That was nice.” But Jack knows better - by making the Doctor give himself up he made him let go of the only control he had left, and now he is lost. Jack didn’t want to rape him but he might have done exactly that.
The Doctor’s smile crumbles, and one second later he is covering his face with his hands.
“I’m sorry, Jack, so sorry!” Though Jack doesn’t exactly know what he is sorry for. He wonders if the Doctor knows, really knows and understands what this is doing to him. He is aware that his friend would not have forced this on him had he had a choice. Still he’s come and asked Jack to take him, and now Jack hates himself for doing so. He would have hated himself just as much had he not done it and watched the Doctor writhe in agony on his bed until morning. ‘Catch 22’ he believes it is called in this era; a situation in which every possible decision is wrong.
He slowly slips out of the other’s body and then takes him into his arms, rocking back and forth, needing the comfort as much as he needs giving it. Almost against his will, as if he hasn’t already seen enough, he pushes the open shirt fully off the Doctor’s shoulders, hating the Master and the Time Lords and the whole universe while his fingers trail lightly over fresh welts, no doubt caused by whipping. There are so many other scars that speak of years and years of torture.
The Time Lords have given this to the Master, desperate enough to sacrifice one of their own for the Master’s commitment. And he took their gift and ran, left them to die and the Doctor to feel guilty for it for all eternity. He should have had the decency to stay and die with them, at least spare Jack’s friend this misery, but he just took it all and gave nothing in return.
One hand is stroking the Doctor’s back, the other has taken hold of his unbandaged wrist again, thumb running over the old scar, and he can not forget the shock of seeing it, of realizing that the Doctor, a man he thought indestructible, has been driven this far.
He wouldn’t have done it if there was any hope left.
“Don’t worry,” the Doctor murmurs, as if he read his thoughts. “I won’t try that again.”
“You sure about that?”
Jack has to ask. His friend was that desperate years ago and since then the situation clearly has not improved.
“Absolutely.” The certainty is hollow and underlined with defeat. Jack holds him a little closer, fearing the moment he has to let him go and fearing the tale behind that word.
“Tell me,” he says.
“I… The Master was very angry,” is all the Doctor offers.
“He hurt you?”
Jack feels the Doctor shake his head against his shoulder.
“No. He… travelled to Earth, and abducted a human, a man I once knew.” The Doctor’s voice is trembling and very quiet. Maybe asking wasn’t such a good idea, but Jack’s friend never can forget the things that hurt him anyway. There is a pause before he continues.
“He locked him in a room in the… the TARDIS. One of the walls was transparent - I could see him and he could see me, but he knew me many lives back and didn’t remember anyway. Then the room was filling with water. There was a bottom to stop it, open the doors and free him, right in from of me, but I couldn’t reach it. It was only two steps away but I couldn’t reach it and the water was rising and I tried…” He stops, and suddenly sobs harshly, into Jack’s shoulder. “He didn’t understand what was going on, Jack, and he was scared and the Master was laughing!” Suddenly he’s clinging to Jack, crying into his shoulder, and all Jack can do is hold him back.
“Oh, Jamie,” the Doctor sobs. “I’m so sorry, so sorry!” And then he just screams hoarsely, for maybe the first time in years breaking down completely.
“It’s wasn’t your fault,” Jack says, wishing his words had more power.
“Of course it was!” the Doctor cries. “It’s all my fault! He does this, all this, only to hurt me. The best way of stopping the Master would be killing me. I’m the only one who can stop him by simply dying and I can’t even do that! There aren’t many ways open to me and I can’t bear losing another if it doesn’t work.”
Jack swallows, hopes the Doctor hasn’t just asked him to kill him.
“Doctor, I could never…” He can’t finish the sentence.
The Doctor shivers in his arms, taking a few deep breaths, calming down somewhat.
“Don’t be silly,” he whispers. “He might lose his motivation but he’d go mad first. I know him.”
“I’m immortal,” Jack reminds him. The Master has killed him often enough, what would it matter?
“Your friends are not.”
True. Jack thinks of Gwen and Tosh and Ianto and despises himself for wondering if they’re worth this, if they’re worth leaving the universe to the Master, and despises himself even more for being unable to let the Doctor go.
“We could always kill him,” he muses grimly. “There has to be a way. It would free you, wouldn’t it?”
When the Doctor leans back and stares at him shocked, pale and apparently frightened beyond belief by the mere thought he wishes he hadn’t said anything.
He can’t even begin to imagine what losing the last of his kind would mean to the Doctor - but looking at his abused friend, already so broken, he makes his decision. The Master will come to pick him up in a few hours, and Jack will be waiting for him.
“I’m all sticky,” the Doctor mumbles, unaware of his thoughts. “I’ll take a shower.” He climbs out of the bed and away from Jack, disappearing into the small bathroom that is part of Jack’s private quarters. Jack in the meantime is left to stare at the wall and wonder what he could have done different during this encounter, what would have been better, as things clearly didn’t go well here, and comes to the conclusion that everything else would have turned out just as bad.
It doesn’t make him feel any better.
Twenty minutes later he kicks open the door to the bathroom, after the Doctor didn’t answer his calls, and finds him sitting beneath the running shower, his knees drawn to his chest, staring at nothing. The water that falls onto Jack’s arm as he reaches to turn it off is so cold he’s surprised it isn’t frozen. The Doctor doesn’t protest as he pulls him to his feet, wraps him into a large towel and leads him back to the bed, looking exhausted and apathetic. His skin feels icy under Jack’s warm hands.
“Stay here,” he orders with the authority of protectiveness and worry. “I’ll get something to warm you up.”
The Doctor doesn’t react to his words, and Jack doesn’t feel well leaving him alone, but he still hurries to the kitchen, fortunately meeting no-one as he in still only wearing his shirt.
When he returns ten minutes later with a pot of steaming hot tea the Doctor is fully dressed - in Jack’s clothes. He’s curled up on the bed but rises when Jack hands him his cup, and practically beams at him, his earlier breakdown seemingly forgotten.
“Tea!” he exclaims happily. “Oh, I love tea! The TARDIS just doesn’t know how to make it anymore.” He sounds cheerful, but there is so much darkness behind his words.
“Drop it,” Jack says quietly, unable to bear it. “Stop pretending, I know you’re…” He stops, sighs. “Don’t lie to me, not now. Give me something to believe in.”
The Doctor looks at him sadly, the cheer gone, and drinks his tea in silence. Then he puts the empty cup down, looks into Jack’s eyes and says:
“Thank you.”
‘For what?’ the human wants to ask but in the end simply accepts the Doctor’s words with a nod and watches as the Time Lord curls up again and practically snuggles into the pillow.
“When will he be back?” Jack wants to know as he stretches out on the bed himself, trying to sound like it wasn’t important.
“At seven,” the Doctor mumbles. Jack sets his alarm-clock, just in case the Doctor should get the idea of leaving without waking him up, and then asks, almost shyly:
“Can I hold you?”
After a second the Doctor nods, and leans against him as Jack slides his arms around him from behind.
-
He wakes at half-past six in the morning and the Doctor is gone, leaving nothing but Gwen telling she saw him leave at six when she returned from an over-night mission and a slight feeling of having been betrayed.
December 4, 2007